The Shamaness

To the shamanness, my presence carried small capuchins perched near my shoulder. She predicted the death of the Great Leader and danced on knives—she saw them with me. Portentous protectors, half demon guardians redolent of sourmilk and nightsweat. She leaned in for a sniff, the sense most associated with women. Could they shield me from becoming the enemy? 

 She welcomed me into her home. I removed my shoes and followed her into an antechamber where she had set up her 굿당 with stacks of apples and dried fish. Mystical props lay against the wall—pitchforks for harvests, dried ribbons from ceremonial wreaths. She unsheathed a sword and gave me a smile, not quite menacing, but not safe either. She knew. I could tell.

(Watcher in the woods, did you channel into her? I saw her eyes lift aflutter, when you entered her. )